50-50
by Amailia
Summary: Written for a request - a more dramatic, action-y, violence-y, angsty SS!F x MacCready pairing! Still figuring out where it's all going, feel free to comment/request! Rated M for language and violence, thus far. Spoilers eventually.


She had to wonder when the taste of blood had become so fucking familiar.

The same sort of thing had happened when she stopped noticing the sharp bitterness of irradiated water and when the flat stagnation of two-hundred-year-old beer became the acceptable norm. Christina wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and licked the remainder off her lips before raising her fists back up to a readied position. Now wasn't the time to reminisce about the absurdity of her everyday life in this apocalyptic nightmare she now called reality, because Robert Joseph MacCready had just punched her in the face.

She'd had the couple second reprieve she needed to consider the best way to reciprocate. A kick to the jaw would do. Her boot connected solidly with his cheek, knocking him over onto the hard, wooden floor boards. He had certainly not seen it coming, and it was almost more gratifying to see the stunned look on his face than to see him knocked clean off his feet. There was no time to waste enjoying the moment however, the gunner was scrappy after all.

She dove toward him as soon as he hit the ground, pinning down one of his wrists with her left hand as she punched him across the face with her right, aiming for the raw, bloodied impact point her boot had opened up along his cheekbone. Though she was certainly stronger than an average woman her size, he had the unmerited advantage of being a young, strapping fucking man. This infuriated her to no end, because it meant she'd never be able to overpower him. By now, she'd learned how to accommodate, however, and the key was haste. She had to get in close and start wreaking havoc before he had a chance to recuperate.

She'd struck him twice more before he snapped out of it. She saw it coming and tried to duck away before he could reach up and grab her, but it was too late. MacCready grabbed her neck in one hand and threw her to the ground, turning over to strike her across the face. Her vision reeled from the impact, the bright spotlights that shone down on the stage blinding her momentarily. She was cognizant enough, however, to realize the position he'd just put himself in as he straddled her, continuing to hold her neck down with one hand while raising his other fist to ready another punch.

Oh, MacCready, you poor bastard.

A sharp, brutal knee to the groin ended it. The crowd gasped in unified sympathy and MacCready was still rolling on the floor cradling his junk when Tommy Lonegan stormed toward her. She spat a mouth full of blood out on the floor as she rolled over and onto her knees so Tommy could raise up one of her arms to signal her victory.

As the adrenaline that coursed through her began to dissipate, she became acutely aware of how exhausted she was. Her bruised, aching limbs protested as she rose to her feet and looked out across the cheering crowd. It was busy tonight, although the Combat Zone was packed almost every night. Apparently people didn't have anything better to do these days than watch Wastelanders beat the shit out of each other for a few caps.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead and the blood from her nose as she started to walk through the crowd, receiving a dozen congratulatory pats on the back as she wound her way to the back of the theater.

"Jesus Christ, Chris, that was wonderful," Cait crooned as she appeared through the doorway that led out to the pitch. "You know how many times I've wanted to do that to MacCready?" The woman looked as disheveled and filthy as always, and from the dilated gleam in her eye, she was likely in the middle of a pretty heavy chem trip.

"Did you cash out?" Christina asked, eyeing the tin Cait was gripping in her soiled, calloused fingers.

"Just like you said, boss," she grinned, passing the tin to Christina and looking around to confirm no one was paying attention to them. She popped the lid open and pulled out a handful of caps, passing them to Cait who pocketed them discretely.

She wasn't precisely proud of the fact that she was enabling a junky's habit, but seriously, they were all adults here, right? She had enough of the Commonwealth's fucking problems on her shoulders, she couldn't concern herself with every addict's self-control issues. Plus, she was just giving her the money, it wasn't like she was shooting the Med-X into her veins herself.

She said goodbye to Cait and left out the front doors and past the pitch, where the bookmakers were busy taking bets for the next fight. This might have been a busier night than most, judging from the crowd of patrons standing around drinking and smoking. She received even more greetings and congratulations from patrons who had spilled out the front doors into the street to gain more breathing room. She gave polite nods in response, and gratefully accepted a cigarette from Kashmir, the ghoul bouncer who looked part super mutant from the way he was wrapped with thick muscles underneath his wrinkled, rotting skin.

He was always docile until he had to break up a fight or throw someone out, then he was that quiet kind of scary that elicited the same sort of feeling you got when your mother threatened just how deep of shit you'd be in when your father got home… and then you heard his car pull in the driveway. She'd pay quite a few caps to see Kashmir in the fighting ring.

She let him light her cigarette before giving him a deferential nod and heading down the block into the darkness. She took a few long, relaxing draws on the smoke as she walked down the street just far enough to fall out of sight before doubling back toward the alley behind the theater.

MacCready was waiting for her outside the back door, sitting on the ground against the building holding a beer bottle to his groin. The coldest beer got these days was 'basement-room-temp', but she figured it was probably better than nothing.

"Hey, champ, how's the junk?" she asked.

"Fuck you very much," he said glumly, not looking up at her.

"Don't be so sad, buddy," she said, sliding down the brick wall to sit next to him, "We made a shit ton of caps tonight."

She opened the tin and held it out toward him so he could have a look at their winnings. The hundred and fifty caps she'd won from the match, plus the hundred cap, four-to-one odds she'd had Cait's contact bet on her winning the fight, minus a small processing fee for the two junkies, still left them with almost five hundred caps to split. For two bloody noses, some bruised balls and a wounded ego? Worth it. In her opinion at least. She wasn't sure MacCready agreed, until he sighed resignedly at the sight of the caps, then lifted his groin beer to pop the cap off and drink the whole thing in one long pull.

One way to make sure they won the pot was to just keep beating the shit out of each other every few nights, but the better way was to rig the fight entirely. Though they spent plenty of time just winging it, they had decided to determine beforehand who would win out in the end, and had Cait place bets appropriately. She had to give MacCready credit, it was his idea, and they'd made more caps in the three weeks since they started the ploy than she had in the whole of the six months since she'd thawed out.

The rivalry of "Camo vs. Blue", as Piper had dubbed them, was starting to become quite renowned amongst the patrons of the Combat Zone. It meant, however, that they had to avoid being seen together whenever they were downtown, or at least act like they hated each other if they were together. That wasn't precisely hard because they were certainly not the best of friends. This cage fighting ploy was the only reason MacCready had stuck around after his retainer was up.

"Back to Madden's?" she asked, standing up. He grumbled his assent and ignored her completely when she offered a hand to help him up. MacCready hated basically everywhere that could be considered remotely civilized in the Commonwealth, and that included Sanctuary and any other settlement she'd managed to make halfway decent over the last six months. So for the few weeks they'd holed themselves up in a boxing gym just south of the river.

It was a convenient place to recuperate and practice between fights, as it was still outfitted with a proper boxing ring and a couple heavy bags. There was even a full set of free weights remaining, which made sense - they weren't exactly practical loot to lug around in the apocalypse. They'd accounted for her increased strength over the last few weeks, and she figured after another month or two of this kind of regimen, she might have enough strength to at least be able to escape from some of MacCready's holds.

"We need to make a new rule," he said as they walked north toward the river.

"Fucking, fine, Robert, I won't knee you in the balls anymore, ok?"

"I'm just saying, would you like it if I punched you in the boob?"

"Well Jesus, no, but I don't like getting punched in the face or gut or kidney either," she argued. Kidney punches were MacCready's fucking favorite and they hurt like a bitch.

"If we make too many rules they're going to catch on," she said.

"Don't you think they're going to catch on anyways?"

"Probably," she agreed, "We should come up with an escape plan for when they do."

"Are you kidding? That place is a zoo. If they ever catch on, we'll be lucky to get out of there alive," he said.

"That's why we need a plan," she said flatly.

"Ok, what'd you have in mind?"

"I don't fucking know!"

"That's a shit plan," he said. She sighed and decided to let it go, choosing instead to cross her arms in annoyance and walk fifteen feet in front of him. The fact that they hadn't killed each other - accidentally or on purpose - was a downright fucking miracle. Originally, she'd felt no inclination to stick with him, even once they'd started this betting scheme. But as annoying as he could be, she knew by now that these days, it was always safer to have someone by your side, even if there's only a fifty-fifty chance they actually have your back.


End file.
